Experience
by Behindthebook08
Summary: After years of hard work, tragedy, and heroism, Hermione is faced with rejection because of her age. How will she take this most recent hardship, and who will be there to help her recover? *Can be read as the third part of my "Whispered Sonnets" series, or stand alone. The series is why is receives the Romance genre. Rating is for language.*


A/N: Some of you may have read this as a part of my story "Whispered Sonnets" I have now changed that into a series, instead of a single story. I have made some significant changes and corrections though, and I hope you enjoy it, and read everything else I am writing up. Feel free to review, I really love the feedback. Thanks! - Behindthebook08

* * *

At twenty-three years old, Hermione Granger sat gaping at her former headmaster, his usual twinkle absent. "Please," she spoke, "Tell me you're joking?"

"I'm sorry Miss Granger; I cannot offer you a teaching position at Hogwarts. While you were an incredibly able student, you are far too young and inexperienced to teach any of the classes which you suggested.

"Inexperienced…" she repeated numbly.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, perhaps in a few years."

Hermione looked quizzically ate her professor, momentarily holding in her anger. "Professor, what sort of experience does one need to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Dumbledore fidgeted slightly, "I mean, if I am to gain experience I need to know where to research, don't I? Magical Creatures, perhaps?—No, no, I'm well versed there. Battling three-headed dogs, dementors, giants, centaurs, python's, acromantulas, a dragon, and a troll have me pretty well prepared for that."

"Miss. Granger… I'm not suggesting," But Hermione interrupted him.

"Hands on experience perhaps? Fighting dark wizards? Capturing convicts? Fighting off deadly curses and hexes? No, no I have all of that too. Besides, vanquishing the most evil Wizard of all time probably covers most of that." She said, smiling with false sweetness, "I'm also immune at this point to both the cruciatus and the imperius curses. And I hunted down twelve of the escaped death-eaters and captured them, so that probably is covered."

"Miss. Granger-" Dumbledore tried again, firmly.

"Perhaps potions! Now that is somewhere where I lack some knowledge. I mean…I brewed and experienced a highly illegal and complex potion in a toilet my second year, but what kind of experience is that? And, as you know, brewing veritaserum and wolfsbane is not really difficult at all—" It was Dumbledore's turn to interrupt.

"Miss Granger!" He quaked. Hermione silenced immediately. "I am aware of your _extensive_ experience in that subject. But I don't think you would be best fit to teach it."  
"You employed a former death-eater to that position once, how was he more fit than me?" she snapped.

"Miss. Granger, I know that I have wounded your pride, but I thoroughly encourage you to consider employment here again, in a few years."

"What requirement am I missing, Professor?" Then Hermione spoke quietly. "Do I have to be dead, to be experienced enough?"

"Of course not," He said gently. She stood from her chair and made her way to the door.

"I don't seem to know how to fulfill that requirement..." she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"Miss Granger, Hermione. Why don't you let someone see you home?"

"That's alright," she said dully.

"I insist." Hermione sat back down, as the headmaster sent a patronus to one of the professors. Moments later Remus Lupin walked in, smiling slightly. Spying the distraught girl sitting before him, his smile faded. He glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded slightly. "Remus will happily escort you home Miss. Granger."

"You really don't have to do that Remus," Hermione muttered to her feet.

"It would be my greatest pleasure, Miss. Granger"

* * *

Remus could clearly remember the last time he had escorted Hermione home, that had been after the death of her parents, and the situation didn't seem much different. She was despondent and distracted. He followed her inside without invitation; he had to make sure she was ok.

Upon entrance to her apartment his heart sunk, the small apartment had turned into a very unHermione'like mess. Trash was scattered about, and there was an unpleasant sent wafting from the kitchen. Books were piled on every surface, and rolls of parchment littered the floor. Glancing at her, he remembered her time with the order. When she had stayed at Grimmauld place she had been uncomfortably tidy. They had even suspected that she may suffer from a mild compulsive disorder. Yet now—now she was living in filth.

Hermione had already stretched across her couch, staring at the wall as if she didn't realize he was here. Moving several books he sat on her coffee table before her. "Hermione" he started, "Are you…alright?"

"No." She stated simply. "Thank you for escorting me home. I'll be alright now." She said these words, yet her voice was a piercing monotone, and her eyes were glazed.

"Hermione, you can't keep going like this." Her eyes jerked violently to him, and then back to the spot on the wall.  
"People need to stop saying that. You don't understand Remus."

"Are you sure?" He said carefully. She snorted, and he felt his last inkling of compassion fade. "That's it. Get up." He said firmly.

"What?"

"Get. Up."

"Go to hell, Remus!" She flared, "I don't know who you think you are, but you aren't my professor anymore, and I'm not worried about house points!"

"I'm not your professor, but I am someone who understands and isn't going to let you do this to yourself anymore. Pity parties are pathetic, and you need to snap out of it."

"You do _not_ understand, Remus Lupin. Back off, okay. I'll handle this in my own way."

"What don't I understand Hermione? I don't understand why you're living in filth! I don't understand why you aren't eating! I don't understand why you don't speak, and why you are, frankly, being a bitch! But understand or not, you can't keep doing this to yourself!"

Something in her flared then, "Yes, yes, everyone understands," she spat, "Well screw you, Lupin! You don't understand anything. Why does it even matter what I'm doing? Who is here to stop me? Everyone who gave a damn about who I was is dead. So why should I care?"

"Maybe you've forgotten, Hermione." Remus said quietly, "_I_ actually do understand." For a moment fury flashed in her eyes, then realization, then the real Hermione appeared, if only for a moment.

"Oh my god, Remus…I'm sorry, I-I wasn't thinking." She said, voice shaking.

"It's alright Hermione, just… remember who you're talking to, alright?"

"Still, it took you time, Remus. Hell, you are still dealing with it. Don't rush me."

"Hermione, it's been four years…it's time to start living again." He said carefully.

"I don't want to." She whispered, staring at her feet.

"I know, but it will get better." He said confidently. "You know Arthur and I had this same conversation when I was around your age. He was the one who had to shake me out of it. Only I was worse, I was a werewolf and I was drinking exceptional amounts." Remus shook his head. "Those were bad years. But you aren't alone, Hermione. A lot of people still care. _I_ care."

Staring up at her former professor, Hermione asked, "Do you really, Remus? Or are you just saying what you think you are supposed to?"

"Hermione" he said, taking her hand. "More than I could _ever_ tell you."


End file.
